


Reinvention

by TrueIllusion



Series: Familiarity [27]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Birthday, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk), Physical Disability, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: It was hard to believe that the man sitting in front of Justin at this moment, a bottle of expensive red wine between them, having just shared a romantic candlelit dinner, was the same man who’d once stood barefoot on the street and told him that he didn’t believe in love -- that he only believed in fucking, because it was fast and efficient, minimum bullshit and maximum pleasure.How far they were from that moment on the corner of Fuller and Tremont, when Justin had cried tears of hurt as he drove away in Daphne’s car, feeling like all of his dreams had been crushed.





	Reinvention

_“When I was bashed, I found out that the best way to survive -- to go on -- is to make something. A painting, a napkin holder, it doesn’t matter, just so that you can prove to yourself and to them that they didn’t get you. You’re still here.”_

*****

“Are you sure you don’t want your old job back?”

Brian had asked Justin that several times in the last few weeks, ever since he’d saved the day with his artwork for the New York tourism campaign. And Justin’s answer was always the same.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

It was a Wednesday night. Not their normal night to go out, but Justin didn’t feel like cooking and neither did Brian. Normally, they’d just order takeout, but Brian had been stuck in his office all day working, so he was ready to get out of the apartment and quickly vetoed that idea. That was how they ended up at their favorite Italian restaurant in their neighborhood, Monetti’s.

The owner, Nick, was a young, gay man in his late 20s, having recently taken over the restaurant from his father, who was in ill health. His mother, who -- in true Debbie Novotny style -- had basically treated all of the restaurant’s regulars as if they were her children, had passed away a couple of years before. Justin missed seeing her, because she had always been so sweet and nice to him, not to mention her propensity for throwing in a free dessert almost every time he picked up their takeout order, because she knew how much he loved her lemon cake.

He knew Nick really missed her as well. Justin couldn’t imagine losing his mother at that age, or even now, a few years older than Nick. And with his father’s health problems, Nick was now running the entire place by himself, and he was struggling to stay afloat. Sometimes he and Brian would talk advertising, which Brian didn’t mind doing outside of work hours because Nick was a friend. Brian had put together a couple of different campaigns for him, and Nick had paid him in free catering for meetings and events hosted by Kinnetik in the city. But there was a lot of competition in New York City when it came to owning and operating an Italian restaurant, and even with Brian’s marketing help, Nick was still struggling to make ends meet, and he’d recently confided in Justin that he understood now what a stress operating the restaurant must have been on his parents.

Even now, Brian and Justin were one of only a handful of couples in the restaurant, at 7 p.m. -- what seemed like a prime dinner hour. They’d just finished splitting a piece of Mona’s famous lemon cake -- which Brian pretended not to want any of, but he ate more than half -- after a dinner of too-much pasta, meatballs, and fresh ricotta cheese. Three more of Brian’s secret loves. Now, they were finishing their cocktails while Brian continued to pick up cake crumbs and scrape stray frosting off the dessert plate with the back of his fork.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just order yourself your very own piece of cake, instead of eating most of mine and then sitting here scraping the crumbs up off the plate like some sort of starving orphan,” Justin teased.

Brian shrugged, put his fork down, and tipped the rest of the contents of his cocktail glass into his mouth. “The calories don’t count if the food wasn’t yours,” he said, his trademark smirk turning up the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, okay.” Justin laughed. “Whatever you say, old man.”

“Hey, I’m not the one whose birthday is fast approaching.”

“Yours isn’t exactly far behind.”

“Now you’ll be the same age I was when we almost got married the first time.”

“And you’ll still be twelve years older than me, so watch your mouth. I’m not the one who’s about to enter the back half of my forties.”

“Don’t remind me.” Brian ran his finger along the edge of his empty glass, just as their server, Julie, stopped by their table to ask if they’d like more to drink. Brian shook his head and asked for the check, and asked her to let Nick know that the ricotta cheese was particularly delicious tonight.

Justin snickered and shook his head.

“What? Ricotta isn’t a carb.”

“No, but I’m pretty sure that pasta is. And the three slices of garlic bread that you ate. And that cake. You’d better watch out, or you’re gonna get fat in your old age.”

“Well, we can’t all be blessed with Justin Taylor metabolisms, can we?” Brian took a sip of his water and raised an eyebrow at Justin.

“And I saw you squinting at the menu when you were trying to decide what drink to get. You should go get your eyes checked. It’s probably about time for some reading glasses.” Justin grinned.

“And it’s probably about time for you to shut the fuck up if you don’t want to sleep on the couch tonight.” Brian laid his napkin over the empty dessert plate, which had now been cleared of any and all crumbs. No sooner had he done that, than an odd look came over his face, and Justin saw him shift his weight a little bit in his wheelchair.

“You okay?” Justin asked, trying his best to tamp down the instant anxiety that seemed to rise up in him whenever it seemed like Brian wasn’t feeling his best. Justin was doing a lot better with that than he had been a few weeks before, but it was still hard not to worry. Brian wasn’t always the best at taking care of himself without being prodded to do so. He was getting better about that, too, but there was still room for improvement.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Brian said. “But I need to go home soon.”

Justin knew exactly what that meant. It had happened before when they’d been here -- Brian needing to use the bathroom. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, because Brian carried everything he needed with him all the time, but at this particular restaurant, he couldn’t get into the bathroom because the door was too narrow. Even if the door had been wider, the room wasn’t big enough for him to turn around in, so it still wouldn’t work. They came here quite a bit, and Brian knew to make sure that he took care of things before they left the apartment, but sometimes his body could be unpredictable. At least they were close enough to home that if the need arose, they could get back to their apartment in time.

Brian fidgeted a few more times before Julie returned with the check and another slice of cake in a to-go box with a note on top that said, “Because I know Brian ate most of it. - Nick.”

Justin laughed as Brian took his credit card out of his wallet and handed it to their server. “He knows you well,” Justin said.

“And you,” Brian said. “Fucking bottomless pit. You still eat like a goddamned teenager.” Brian frowned and shifted his weight again.

“If you need to go ahead and go, I can wait for the check,” Justin said. He knew that Brian’s system was still fucked up from the kidney infection, and was still getting used to keeping up with normal hydration levels after months of Brian not drinking enough water. So that meant that by the time Brian got warning, it could quickly become an emergency situation. And, if he didn’t take care of it in time, an embarrassing one, particularly for Brian, who still prided himself on being perfectly put-together all the time.

Brian nodded and said, “Yeah, I’d probably better. I’ll see you at home. Sorry.”

“It’s no problem. You go. I’ll be there in a little bit.”

With that, Brian turned and left the small dining room. The hostess opened the door for him and held it while he negotiated the single step at the front door of the restaurant by tilting himself back into a wheelie and carefully lowering himself down to the sidewalk outside, being mindful that both of his back wheels hit the ground at the same time and his front casters stayed off the ground until that happened. It took a lot of strength, control, and finesse to do it, and Justin knew that. But Brian always managed to do it himself, even on the days when it didn’t seem like he’d be able to. The last time they’d been here, while Brian was still working on getting his strength back after being so ill, it had taken him three tries to get up enough momentum to get over the step and into the restaurant. But he’d done it without Justin’s help. And Justin had a feeling that if he hadn’t been able to, they would have been going home before Brian ever would have agreed to let Justin help him.

A couple of minutes after Brian left, Julie was back with his credit card and the receipt. Justin signed the slip, leaving the same sort of tip that would have been left if Brian were the one doing the writing, then grabbed his cake and got up to leave, shouting a goodbye to Nick over his shoulder and into the kitchen as he walked out of the restaurant.

When Justin got back to the apartment, Brian was just coming out of the bathroom and back down the hallway.

“Sorry about that,” Brian said as he went into the kitchen and refilled his stainless steel water bottle at the refrigerator -- the one that he had to empty four times throughout the day. Every day. Maybe five times if he’d had alcohol or too much coffee. He’d had two cocktails at the restaurant, so he was probably about to have number five. And he was fine. They were both fine. Sometimes it was still difficult for Justin to not worry about Brian when they were apart, but it was getting easier, slowly but surely.

“Did you make it back in time?”

“Yeah. Barely, I think.”

Brian pushed himself over to the sofa, slid his body onto it and pulled his legs up onto the chaise lounge, letting out a quiet grunt as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You alright?” Justin asked, sitting down next to Brian and pulling his own feet up onto the cushion.

Brian nodded and breathed out. “It’s been a long day. I’m so tired of arguing with the art department.”

“You’ve always been tired of the art department.” Justin ran his hand up Brian’s bicep on his way to wrap his arm around Brian’s shoulders. Brian leaned into him slightly.

“That’s because they’ve always sucked. Except for when you were there.”

Justin pulled his hand back a little, starting to massage the back of Brian’s neck. Brian moaned softly.

“God, that feels good,” Brian said.

Slowly, Justin worked his left hand down the side of Brian’s neck toward his shoulder, raising his right hand to do the same on the right side -- at least, as well as he could. His hand seemed to be getting a little stronger, even though the fine motor control was still not there and it still felt a bit numb. He’d been giving Brian full-body massages, just like Adam did for Rob, for a couple of weeks now. Adam had given him some pointers, and Justin had jumped right in, eager to help Brian get some relief for some of the things that had been bothering him, physically.

Even after doing it just a few times, Justin already felt like it was not only good therapy for Brian, but also for him. He was starting to get more confident in using his right hand, and he was fairly sure that the slight increase in strength he’d been noticing was probably due to exercising his hand as he massaged Brian’s muscles.

Every time Justin had done it so far, Brian had ended up falling asleep. Brian apparently had a lot of sleep to catch up on. Justin felt a little guilty that so much of Brian’s exhaustion could be traced back to him, but he knew he couldn’t let that guilt take hold. It wouldn’t do any good. All they could do now was move forward and take care of themselves and each other.

Justin moved over so that he was straddling Brian, starting to unbuckle Brian’s belt and unbutton his pants, then sliding them down to his ankles, where he took off Brian’s shoes and socks before removing his pants entirely. Justin started with Brian’s feet, working them one by one with his hands, massaging the bottoms of Brian’s feet with his thumbs. The soles of Brian’s feet were soft and smooth, having long ago shed their toughness, given that they hadn’t been walked on in over a decade. Justin had always loved Brian’s feet -- long and slender, just like the rest of him, with long toes to match. They’d always been sexy, and they still were. The skin of his feet was cooler than the skin of his upper body had been, just like it always was, because Brian’s lower body didn’t regulate temperature very well. Once he’d finished rubbing Brian’s feet, Justin’s hands slowly crept up Brian’s legs, massaging the soft, pliable muscles there, feeling the occasional spasm beneath his fingers, although those were nothing now like what they had been the first time he’d done this.

By the time Justin made it to Brian’s upper thighs, Brian was reaching out to Justin and starting to unbutton Justin’s shirt, then grabbing both sides of his face and pulling him in for a kiss. Slowly, they undressed each other until they were both naked, Justin’s hands working the tight, tense muscles of Brian’s shoulders and chest while his mouth kissed Brian’s neck and his chin and his lips and that space behind his ear that drove Brian crazy.

When Justin got there, he switched to his tongue, licking a trail back down the side of Brian’s neck and across his chest to Brian’s left nipple, enjoying how Brian arched his back when Justin did that, a low, guttural moan coming out of his mouth. Justin moved to the other nipple, then traced his tongue down Brian’s abdomen to his waistline, testing the waters. Brian moaned again, louder this time -- still pure pleasure, no pain.

Justin could feel Brian’s hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him up so Brian could reach more of him, but Justin wasn’t done yet. He took Brian’s cock into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, relishing how it felt to have Brian inside of him in this way, as he felt Brian getting hard. Once he was, Justin moved back upward, letting Brian prepare him with the lube they kept in the drawer of the table by the end of the sofa, for those times when they just couldn’t make it to the bedroom.

They hadn’t had sex since before Brian got sick, so the feeling of Brian’s fingers inside of him alone was almost enough to push him over the edge. He knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Hurry,” he whispered in Brian’s ear, before kissing Brian’s earlobe and making his way back down Brian’s jawline and up to his lips.

Brian did as he was told, and soon Justin was straddling Brian again, sliding them both downward just a little, so he’d be in the right position to ride Brian. Justin squeezed the older man’s hips between his own legs as he moved himself up and down, the feeling of his husband moving inside of him overwhelming his own senses. He could feel Brian’s hands on his cock as well, jerking him off -- at first slowly and gently, then gradually becoming more quicker and more urgent as Brian’s breathing sped up and he approached his own climax. Justin’s orgasm was stronger and more intense than any he’d felt in a while -- like his body had been saving it up during Brian’s recovery.

Justin practically collapsed on top of Brian, his head coming to rest on Brian’s shoulder, and they both lay there, catching their breath, not saying a word for several minutes. Neither of them needed to say anything, really. Their bodies had said it all.

Brian was the first one to speak.

“You used to do that, you know. Before.”

“What?”

“Give me massages.” Brian took Justin’s right hand in both of his hands and started his own slow massage of the muscles that spent too much time feeling taut and painful in spite of their lack of strength. “It feels really good. It helps my back so much.”

Justin turned his head up and kissed Brian, trying to stay in the moment and not get dragged down into feeling guilty over what he didn’t remember. “Take me to bed and I’ll take care of that for you too,” he said, in his best sultry voice.

Justin slid off of Brian and stood up, pulling Brian back into a sitting position before he released Brian’s hands so he could get himself into his chair. They left their clothes in the living room. Justin would pick them up later -- right now he was focused on Brian.

He got out the special massage oil he’d bought expressly for this purpose, while Brian was getting himself into bed. Once Brian had himself settled and turned over onto his stomach, Justin started massaging Brian’s back muscles with his fingers, being mindful to stay away from the area where titanium rods and screws held Brian’s spine together, supporting it where the bones had once been shattered. Instead, he concentrated on the muscles on either side, working them with his fingers and his thumbs, and the heels of his hands -- doing the best he could to keep his efforts even between his right and his left hand -- until he felt the soft rise and fall of Brian’s chest begin to lengthen and smooth out, as the older man fell asleep.

Justin kissed Brian’s cheek and settled in next to him, pulling the duvet over them both and letting his own eyes close.

The next week, on Justin’s birthday, he woke up alone in the bed. He rolled over and looked at the alarm clock -- it was 9 a.m. He knew Brian had an early morning meeting with a client and would already be gone, so he wasn’t surprised to be by himself, even though it still felt lonely, particularly on his birthday.

He had vague memories of birthdays past -- just snippets. Recollections of Brian ordering him flowers, or leaving him a card on the kitchen island if he had to be out before Justin woke up, but today, there was none of that. Idly, Justin wondered if Brian had forgotten his birthday. It had seemed like Brian had a lot on his mind lately. Even though Justin could tell Brian was trying to not stress himself out the way he had when he’d made himself sick, Brian was still often pulled in a million different directions, and even when he said “no,” those million different things would still be running through his head, leaving him obviously distracted.

Maybe resulting in him forgetting his husband’s birthday.

Justin showered and dressed and ate breakfast and went to his studio, hoping to get some work done on his newest sculpture project, but when he got there, he found that he really felt like painting. So he did. All the while wondering when or if he’d hear from Brian. Still questioning if Brian really had forgotten that today was his birthday.

Justin was standing in front of his easel, completely absorbed in the task at hand -- carefully placing strokes on a canvas, blues and reds atop a gray background, letting his imagination run uninhibited as it guided his hand. He still wasn’t sure where exactly he was headed with this piece, but he figured he would let it tell him when it was done. He’d just dipped the brush back into the red paint when he felt a hand on the small of his back, nearly causing him to paint a bright red streak across the entire canvas out of sheer surprise.

“Fuck!” Justin exclaimed, dropping the brush and letting it clatter to the floor, where it scattered small droplets of paint across the tile. He turned to see who the hand belonged to and found Brian sitting behind him.

“Sorry,” Brian said. “I thought you heard me come in.”

Truthfully, Justin had been so lost in his painting that he hadn’t even heard the door open or Brian approaching him.

“What’s this?” Brian asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Justin said, shrugging as he looked the partially-finished canvas up and down. “I just felt like painting today, and this was what came out.”

“Well, I like it.” Brian wrapped his arm around Justin’s waist.

“You’re also a little bit biased,” Justin said, smiling.

“I can’t help it if my husband is a genius.” Brian grabbed Justin by the arm and tugged him down to give him a kiss. “Happy birthday.”

“So you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget the day that my soulmate was born?”

Brian had come a long way from being the man who felt that birthdays meant nothing -- that only achievements were worthy of celebration. A long way from the man who’d once bought him a night with a hustler as a gift, thinking it was thoughtful and romantic and something Justin would want, when, in reality, Justin only wanted Brian.

“Your soulmate, huh?” Justin could barely contain his grin as he bent down to pick up his dropped paintbrush. “Look what you made me do.” He gestured to the droplets of paint that had spattered on the floor when the brush hit.

“Eh, that’s what we pay the maintenance staff to take care of, right?”

“I guess. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Well, I did want to surprise you. But not necessarily with that.” Brian turned and went back to the door, retrieving a garment bag that he’d apparently hung on the handle. “I wanted to surprise you with this.”

“Brian, you know that I don’t need any--”

“Hush. You’ll need this for where I’m taking you tonight.”

“And what was wrong with the other half dozen suits that hang in our closet that belong to me that I never wear?”

“I can’t be seen with my husband wearing last season’s couture, now can I?” Brian grinned as he unzipped the bag to reveal a light grey suit that Justin was pretty sure he remembered seeing on the cover of one of the many catalogs Brian got in the mail, along with a navy blue shirt and a light blue tie. Only then did Justin notice how Brian was dressed -- he had on his most recently acquired custom-tailored black Armani suit, with a red shirt and a red tie that kind of made him look like the devil -- and also, sexy as hell.

“But it’s so much money--”

“Since when do you object to my spoiling you with my monetary gains?”

Brian had a point there. Justin would just rather be spoiled with art supplies and trips to Europe than with designer clothing. Justin also knew that there was no way he was going to get Brian to stop buying him clothes, so he might as well quit trying.

“So where are we headed, Mr. Kinney?”

“Get dressed and I’ll show you.” Brian took the garment bag over to the bathroom that was in the corner of his studio and opened the door, hanging the suit on the hook that was attached to the back.

After Justin had washed up as best he could in the sink, with Brian assuring him any missed flecks of paint on his face or his hands were nothing more than a huge turn-on for him, Brian turned out the lights in the studio and led Justin downstairs, where there was a black Lincoln Town Car waiting for them. The driver -- whom Justin recognized as being the same man who had taken him to the hospital on the morning Brian got sick -- got out and opened the door for them, then took Brian’s chair apart and stowed the pieces in the trunk.

“Five-star service,” Brian said, leaning across the seat to give Justin a kiss. This time, Justin felt Brian’s tongue push into his mouth as their lips moved in perfect sync, like they were meant to fit together. Justin wondered if he’d ever stop feeling his stomach flutter when Brian kissed him. He hoped he never would.

“So what exactly do you have planned, Mr. Kinney?” Justin said, after Brian had pulled back.

“You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later, they were at a restaurant Justin had never even heard of before, but that he could tell was expensive just from the decor and the lack of prices on the menu. It also featured a gorgeous view of the city. He ordered a steak and a baked potato, while Brian ordered his with a salad, and they sat drinking from a bottle of wine that had already been on their table, ready to be served, when they’d arrived. Clearly, Brian had arranged every bit of this, and Justin wondered when he’d had time to do it. Not that it mattered. Brian was healthy now, and he was doing a much better job with delegating tasks and prioritizing his own well-being. Justin kept having to remind himself of that.

“I probably don’t want to know how much this bottle of wine cost,” Justin said, as he swirled it in his glass and then took a sip.

“Probably not. But you’re worth it.”

The steak was the best cut of meat Justin had ever eaten in his entire life -- and with his “country-club upbringing” as Rob called it, he’d eaten a lot of steak. Justin closed his eyes for a moment to focus on the flavor, only to hear Brian say, “Don’t come before I’ve even had a chance to fuck you.”

Justin opened his eyes to see the older woman at the next table eyeing Brian haughtily. “Shhhh, Brian,” Justin hissed, jerking his head in her general direction.

“Who the hell cares? I paid my money just like she did. I can say whatever the fuck I want.”

They finished the bottle of wine over a dessert of triple-layer chocolate torte, which Brian enjoyed far more than he’d ever want to let on. He did let Justin have the last bite, though, and he refrained from scraping the crumbs off the plate with his fork.

Brian finished his glass of wine, then paused to look at Justin, his hazel eyes seeming to glow in the dim light from the candle that flickered in the center of their table. Justin could remember when all he’d ever wanted was for Brian to look at him like that -- like he was the most precious thing in the world. Now, he had it. He had it every day.

He was so goddamned lucky.

When they got back into the waiting Town Car, Justin expected that they’d be heading back to Chelsea, but they didn’t. Instead, they ended up at a jazz club on the upper west side. There was a line of people waiting to get in, but Justin wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when Brian bypassed it entirely and they were both ushered in as if they owned the place.

“Brian, how did you--”

“Shhh. Don’t worry about it. Just relax and enjoy.”

They were led to a table in a dark corner of the already dimly-lit room, and the “reserved” sign was removed from it once they’d been seated. A low din of conversation buzzed in the busy room while the musicians warmed up onstage. Seconds later, a server appeared with another bottle of wine that Justin probably didn’t want to know the cost of, pouring some of it into two glasses before nodding toward Justin and saying, “Happy birthday, sir.”

“Brian, you really didn’t have to do all of this.” At this moment, Justin wanted to kick himself for ever entertaining the thought that Brian had somehow forgotten his birthday. He certainly hadn’t forgotten it at all. He’d apparently been planning this for a while.

“I know.” Brian’s eyes looked mischievous, reminiscent of a little boy who was up to something. “I wanted to.”

It was hard to believe that the man sitting in front of Justin at this moment, a bottle of expensive red wine between them, having just shared a romantic candlelit dinner, was the same man who’d once stood barefoot on the street and told him that he didn’t believe in love -- that he only believed in fucking, because it was fast and efficient, minimum bullshit and maximum pleasure.

How far they were from that moment on the corner of Fuller and Tremont, when Justin had cried tears of hurt as he drove away in Daphne’s car, feeling like all of his dreams had been crushed.

Now, he had everything he ever could have wanted.

Once the band started playing, Brian seemed lost in the music, his eyes closing as he swayed in rhythm with the melody. Justin was enjoying watching Brian as much as he was enjoying the music. They chatted a little, but mostly, they just listened. After a few songs, Brian came out from behind the table and took Justin’s hand.

“Dance with me.”

Justin stood, and Brian led him to the dance floor, where a few couples were already swaying in time with the soft sounds of the saxophone, the piano, and the bass, combined with the sultry voice of a woman in a black, sequined evening gown.

At first, Brian held Justin’s hand, moving his chair with the other, occasionally switching hands so they could move a different way. Then, Justin took both of Brian’s hands and led for a while, before Brian pulled him down onto his lap and whispered, “Put your arms around me.”

Justin draped his arms around Brian’s neck as Brian began to move them slowly around the dance floor, twirling and turning. Justin closed his eyes and let himself be consumed by the moment, only to open them and find that they were the only ones on the dance floor and everyone in the room was watching them. Brian was giving him a small smile that looked so shy and so un-Brian-like, and Justin couldn’t help but notice how happy Brian looked. How in love. So absolutely in love.

As the song ended, Brian kissed him, long and deep. When their lips parted, the other people in the room were applauding -- not just for the band, but for them. Justin was fairly sure he could see tears in Brian’s eyes.

Justin wondered if they’d danced like this at their wedding reception.

He wondered if he would ever stop wishing he could remember it. If it would ever come back to him.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Brian said softly, putting his arms around Justin.

“Me too.” Justin kissed Brian again, feeling the electricity surge through his body that he always did whenever they kissed. That he had ever since that first night at the loft. “Take me home.”

That night, they made love. It was slow and sweet, with Justin’s feet atop Brian’s shoulders and his ankles crossed behind Brian’s neck as they used the chair Justin had bought for Brian that allowed them to revisit all of their old favorite positions and put Brian back in control. After all Brian had already done for him that night, Justin didn’t think it was possible for Brian to demonstrate any more clearly just how much he loved Justin, but as their bodies rocked back and forth in perfect sync, Brian moving in and out of him as he reached his edge and tipped over it into oblivion, Justin knew that neither of them would ever be complete without the other. And when they were connected, they were whole.

The next morning, as Justin headed to his studio, he was still on cloud nine, remembering how amazing the previous night had been. Brian had truly made the night perfect. It was the best birthday Justin had ever had.

Brian had given him a post-birthday blow job that morning, and then they’d showered together, still unable to keep their hands off of each other. But eventually, they had to, or else Brian was going to be late for his meeting.

Justin had made them both breakfast, and they’d eaten together just like they did on most mornings -- Justin drinking his coffee with too much cream, and Brian with too much sugar.

It was a good morning. A really, really good morning. The sort of morning that Justin was looking forward to repeating, over and over again, for the rest of their lives.

Justin had recently started a new sculpture project -- an abstract piece that he was fashioning out of random objects he’d found at thrift stores and junk shops and bought from people on the street in neighborhoods that Brian would probably freak out if he knew Justin had been to by himself, even though they were both trying to be better about that. He was really enjoying having the ability to branch out and create whatever he wanted -- trying things he’d never tried before -- without having to worry about whether or not he was living up to anyone else’s expectations.

The only person he needed to please was himself.

As he sorted through the box of metal and plastic and ceramic bits and baubles, looking for whatever spoke to him next, Justin started thinking about Brian’s birthday. It was a little more than a month away, and Justin had no idea what to do to celebrate it.

What do you get for the man who has everything, and the moment he realizes he wants something that he doesn’t have, buys it for himself? The man who rolls his eyes at romance -- unless, of course he’s the one doing the romancing.

How in the world could Justin put something together that would even begin to measure up to what Brian had done for him?

He knew it wasn’t a competition, but he still felt pressured. He wanted to be as good of a partner to Brian as Brian was being to him. To do something for him that was just as special -- just as unforgettable -- as the beautiful memory Brian had given him the night before.

Justin spent the day dabbling in his studio -- working on the sculpture, painting a little bit, even sitting down in the comfortable armchair he’d recently put by the window to just sketch for a little while. Thinking of Brian. The man he could sketch from memory, and had since he was seventeen years old.

He was just finishing softening some of the harsh pencil lines by smudging them with his finger when he started to feel the telltale tinge of pain behind his eyes that told him tonight wasn’t going to be as good of a night as last night. But maybe if he went home and took his meds, he could keep it from being as bad as it would be otherwise. He hoped so. He was glad that these headaches were getting fewer and farther between, but they were still an unwanted interruption when they did pop up.

Closing his sketchbook, Justin got up and stretched, then slid the book and the pencil into his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder before locking up his studio and heading toward home.

He had to walk right past Monetti’s as he covered the distance between the subway station and their apartment building. There was a chalkboard sign out on the sidewalk advertising a special on cannolis, which Justin knew Brian loved. So, on a whim, he took a detour and opened up the door, finding Nick standing behind the hostess stand, talking on the phone.

“Yes, I’m very sorry that we’re unable to accommodate your party. … Yes, I understand. … Thank you. Goodbye.”

When Nick hung up the phone, he closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“God, that hurt to have to turn down,” he said as he turned and walked back into the empty dining room, motioning for Justin to follow him.

“What?” Justin asked, taking a seat at the same table where Nick had just sunk heavily into a chair. He tried not to think too much about the fact that the dining room was completely deserted. It was the middle of the afternoon, after all. But still, it was a Saturday. He knew things would be busy later, and that there would probably be a wait list during dinner, but he wished for Nick’s sake that they could be busy all day long. The food was so good -- Justin didn’t understand why more people didn’t come here.

Besides, any time is a good time for spaghetti and garlic bread. That was Justin’s philosophy.

“Birthday party. Thirty people. Would practically fill up this whole damn room and maybe get us some new customers who had never been here before. But they needed wheelchair accessibility. They said we were the fifth place they’d called, and they kept striking out.”

Justin nodded. He and Brian certainly knew the struggle of trying to find a place that was accessible and how frustrating it could be as a customer when you really wanted to go somewhere and it just wasn’t feasible. But he hadn’t really considered it from the point of view of the business owner before.

“I really wish I could afford to make the necessary modifications, but I can’t,” Nick said. It was easy to tell how frustrated he was. “You and Brian are two of my best customers, and I know things aren’t exactly convenient for him, but I appreciate that you come anyway. Still, I wish I could make things easier. I just don’t have the money. I don’t have the money for a lot of things I want to do. Such is life, I guess.” Nick sighed and shook his head. “But I’m sure you didn’t stop by just to hear about my problems. What can I do for you?”

“I saw your sign about the cannolis, so I thought I’d stop by and pick up a couple.”

“I’d probably better give you extra, right? So you can have another after Brian eats half of yours?” Nick winked at him. “I don’t see how you stand that. I’d stab him with my fork.”

“I’m used to it. He’s done it for fifteen years. One of these days I’ll get him to admit that he actually likes carbs.”

“Keep feeding him Italian food; he’ll come around.” Nick stood up and walked back toward the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to ask if Justin wanted anything else.

Justin shook his head. So far, the pain in his head was holding steady at “barely there.” Hopefully it would stay that way.

A few minutes later, Nick returned with the cannolis and, as always, a little something extra that he refused to let Justin pay for, insisting that a few bucks worth of pasta and bread wasn’t going to break him. Justin always felt bad about taking the extra food Nick gave him, but Nick wasn’t going to take his money, so eventually, he’d quit trying and had just started saying thanks, and trying to make it up to Nick by sending more business his way.

As Justin walked the rest of the way home, he suddenly realized what he could do to help Nick. Nick might not be able to afford to renovate, but Justin was still sitting on almost all of the money he’d made selling his paintings over the last ten years, since Brian would never let him pay for much of anything and never had. He kept telling Justin to save his money in case he needed it later, but they both knew that need was never going to come if Brian had anything to do with it.

This, though -- this would be an excellent use of some of that money. He’d be helping Nick, which he knew Brian would support, and it would be a great birthday gift for Brian as well, to not have to struggle to get through the door or have to leave suddenly if he needed to use the restroom. Justin hoped he’d be able to get Nick to agree to let him do this for him.

When Justin got back up to the apartment, Brian wasn’t there. Instead, there was a note on the kitchen island -- in what had become their usual note-leaving spot -- letting him know that he’d gone to the gym and he’d be back in about an hour. Justin chuckled to himself at the thought that, since he didn’t know when Brian had left, he really had no idea when “about an hour” was. But he guessed it really didn’t matter. They would both be fine.

He set the paper bag containing the cannolis and the rest of the food Nick had given him on the counter and went into the bathroom to take the medication he hoped would keep him from spending the rest of the evening in bed. Although he knew he might anyhow, because the pills made him sleepy.

He had a pretty good system worked out now for getting the bottles open, using a rubber grip thingy that Rob had given him. He’d finally started using the flip-top pill box Brian had given him, but that was just for the things he took every day. For the things like this, that he only needed sometimes, he still had to open the bottles. But that was okay. It was good for him to keep doing it, because then he’d notice when it started to get easier. And that was a good thing.

After he’d downed the pills with some water and set the empty glass back in its home on the counter, he went back into the kitchen and sat down at the table with his food -- a late lunch, he supposed. Nick had given him some fettuccine alfredo and two slices of garlic bread, which Justin thought was the most delicious bread he’d ever eaten in his life. The bread itself had just the slightest note of sweetness in it, which paired nicely with the strong, savory flavor of the garlic butter.

Once his belly was full, he cleaned up his mess and then went into their bedroom to lie down, because he could already feel himself getting drowsy. He started off trying to read the book he’d started last week, but set it aside after he woke himself up by dropping it on his face at one point when he must have nodded off. The headache was starting to ramp up a bit, although it was nothing like some of the ones he’d had recently. He was thankful for that.

Justin listened for a moment to see if it sounded like Brian was home, but the apartment was still quiet. Brian must have left right before Justin came home. That, or he’d decided to go somewhere else before he came home, or he got to talking to one of the personal trainers at the gym again. One of them, Brandon, seemed to have taken a particular interest in Brian, seeing him as a potential challenge, and had been trying his best to get Brian to let him design a training plan for him. So far, Brian had refused, because he’d always been more of a “just go do whatever I feel like, and whatever will make me look good” kind of guy when it came to the gym. But he got the feeling that Brandon had been wearing him down.

He let his eyes drift shut once again, falling asleep quickly. When he woke up again, Brian was beside him, setting a glass of water on the nightstand. His hair was wet, probably from his post-gym shower, and he was dressed like he didn’t plan on going out again.

“Shit,” Brian said. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No. But you are a pretty nice view to wake up to.” Justin smiled.

“You alright? It’s not like you to be sleeping at dinnertime.”

“Headache.” It was still about the same as it had been the last time he’d woken up. No better, but also no worse, so that was good.

“A bad one?”

Justin shook his head a little. “No. Just kind of there. It’s my meds that are making me sleepy.”

Brian went around to the other side of the bed and pulled his body up onto it, scooting himself over close to Justin before turning onto his side and laying his arm over Justin’s chest, pulling Justin’s body against his. Justin loved laying like this -- it always made him feel safe. Protected. And he knew that was exactly why Brian did it.

The next time Justin woke up, he could feel Brian’s breath, warm and gentle, on his neck -- a steady rhythm, in and out, coupled with the soft snore that indicated Brian was asleep. Justin interlaced his fingers through Brian’s, immersing himself in the moment, sharing this intimacy with the man he loved. The only man he’d ever loved. The only one he ever would.

Justin spent the next several days working on setting his plan for Brian’s birthday into motion. First, he had to convince Nick, which turned out to be more of a challenge than he’d thought it would be, but ultimately, he’d managed to talk him into it. Once he was sure Nick would go for it, he put in a call to a contractor who had done some work in the building where his studio was, to see what an estimated cost and time frame might be. Once he and Nick had met with the contractor at the restaurant and they’d all agreed on the details of the project, he had to call Ted so he could have one of Kinnetik’s lawyers draw up a contract to protect Nick, just to be sure all of their bases were covered. Justin could hear the smile in Ted’s voice as he described what he wanted to do and why, and made Ted promise that Brian wouldn’t hear about any of this. Ted agreed, ending their call with, “I have to say, when you first started following Brian around Liberty Avenue, I don’t think any of us ever thought we’d be here fifteen years later.”

Justin had to agree. He’d had high hopes back then -- it was why he wasn’t willing to give up easily -- but he’d never imagined that a decade and a half later, he and Brian would be married and monogamous. Much less that they’d both be perfectly content with that. But here they were.

It would take about two weeks to make the necessary changes at Monetti’s. And in the meantime, Justin had to keep Brian out of there.

He’d figured that might be the biggest challenge of all, and he was right. Not even three days after work had begun on transforming the storage room full of unused junk into an accessible restroom, Brian was trying to drag Justin out of the apartment, insisting that he had an overwhelming need for chicken parmesan. Justin had to pretend that he could feel a headache coming on to convince Brian that they should stay home and order takeout, having it delivered. Brian spent the rest of the night trying to take care of him, which Justin had to admit was even nicer when he wasn’t feeling like shit and could really enjoy it all.

When the work on the bathroom was nearly completed, Justin snuck away during one of Brian’s client meetings to check out the progress so far. He and Nick were both impressed with the quality of the work and the efficiency with which everything was getting done. At this rate, it would be done in time for Brian’s birthday with no problem at all. Once the bathroom was done, they’d also be working on the entrance, replacing the single step at the front door into a ramp, which wouldn't be too difficult since the entrance was already set back a little bit off of the sidewalk.

They were discussing those plans with the contractor when Justin’s cell phone rang. He had to keep his heart from jumping up into his throat, because it seemed like the only time people called him now was if it was an emergency. Most of the time, everyone just sent text messages back and forth.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he saw that the call was from Adam, which made it even stranger. He hoped that nothing was wrong. But his hands were still shaking just a little bit as he stepped away to take the call.

“Hello?” He could hear the apprehension in his own voice as he answered the phone.

“Hey Justin. It’s Adam. Listen, I’ve got a proposition for you. Hear me out before you say no.”

Adam didn’t even give Justin any time to object -- he just kept talking.

“I know I’ve mentioned before that Mrs. Chambers is retiring at the end of the year, and I know that right now you’re really not interested in taking over the position full-time, but she’s been saving her vacation time up and is taking off the last two weeks of school. We really need a sub, but no one is available for two full weeks. The kids love you -- I know they’d be thrilled to see you again. So I guess I’m calling to beg. Please? Would you consider it? Just for these two weeks?”

Justin still remembered the first time Adam had brought up perhaps returning to substitute teaching, as they’d sat around the dinner table at Rob and Adam’s apartment. How, at the time, he’d had no idea how he was even going to make art at all after this injury. How out-of-reach it had felt to even think about teaching others how to make art when he couldn’t do it himself.

He also remembered the look on Esme’s face -- positively crestfallen -- when she’d thought that Justin might not teach her anymore either.

He still loved helping Esme and Sophia draw, but teaching a roomful of children was completely different from sitting in the floor of a child’s bedroom in a friend’s apartment.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Justin, please. We’re desperate. And I would have much rather called you first, but I knew you’d say no. I can tell you still want to say no. But will you promise me that you’ll at least think about it? It’s just for two weeks. That’s all.”

Two weeks still felt like a long time in Justin’s world. What would he do? What would he have the kids do?

Would they ask a lot of questions about what happened to him? Would they expect him to remember them? What if he didn’t?

“Justin? Are you still there?”

Adam’s words brought Justin back to reality.

“I’m here.”

“Will you think about it? Please?”

Justin let out a breath. He wanted to say no. But he couldn’t. Not after all that Adam and Rob had helped him with in recent months. He knew if he took the time to think about it, he’d probably find a way to talk himself out of it, so it was probably best to take this much like he’d taken his journey back into his own art -- just jump in.

“I’ll do it,” Justin said, still not quite believing what he was saying, but trying not to think about it too much. “Just for the two weeks.”

He hoped he would land on his feet.

The following Monday, Justin was standing in his and Brian’s closet, his hair still damp from the shower, trying to push the myriad of anxious thoughts and potentially disastrous what-ifs out of his mind as he tried to choose what clothing to wear for his first day back as a substitute art teacher. He was so lost in the chaos of his mind that he didn’t even notice Brian coming up behind him until Brian’s right arm was around his waist and his left hand was combing through the hangers, pushing aside several different things before stopping on a sapphire blue button-up shirt.

“This.” Brian took the shirt out and held it up to Justin. “It brings out your eyes.”

“I’m not trying to look sexy, Brian. I’m teaching elementary school students how to draw.”

“So it’ll be lost on the kids, big deal. But you can still look the part of the hot teacher.”

“Again, this is elementary school, Brian.” Justin tried to sound exasperated, but he was fighting back laughter.

Brian wasn’t listening anyhow. He had moved over to the small section where Justin’s pants were hanging, pushing more hangers aside until he found what he was looking for. “And these. These pants make your ass look delicious.”

“Why do I get the feeling this outfit is more about what you’re going to do to me when I get home, than anything that’s going to be happening during the school day?” Justin did laugh this time. He knew what Brian was doing -- trying to distract him from those anxious thoughts that were threatening to take over his mind.

“Maybe.” Brian was grinning as he took the outfit he’d selected back into the bedroom and laid it out on the bed. “Yes. Perfect. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need any more of my fashion consulting services.”

Justin watched as Brian left the room, then put on the slim-fitting khakis and the blue shirt, secretly grateful that Brian had taken one decision off of his plate when he was already feeling overwhelmed -- perhaps he’d done that on purpose. When he got into the living room, he saw that Brian had made breakfast.

“Are you going to go all housewife on me now that I’ve got a day job?” Justin teased.

“In your dreams. You’d better enjoy it while you’ve got it.”

An hour later, Brian was seeing Justin off with a goodbye kiss that made him want to take Brian’s pants off and have sex with him right there in his wheelchair in the middle of the living room. But they didn’t have time. He had to go or he was going to be late.

Brian ended the kiss with a light smack to Justin’s ass and a promise to show Justin exactly how proud he was of him the minute he got home.

Justin spent the entire subway ride thinking about Brian and trying to will away a hard-on. Yeah, he was pretty sure Brian knew exactly what he was doing -- providing just enough distraction to keep Justin’s “anxiety brain” from taking over. And it was working.

Adam met Justin at the front door with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you again for agreeing to do this,” he said. “I know Michelle is grateful, too.” Michelle was one of the assistant principals and the unlucky recipient of the responsibility to locate subs.

From that moment forward, Justin felt like he’d been sucked into a whirlwind, ending in him being dropped into the classroom, alone, with fifteen minutes to go until his first class would arrive. He busied himself rearranging the desk -- putting most of the things he’d need on the left side so they’d be within easy reach of his “new” dominant hand. He was feeling more self-conscious of his right hand today than he had for a while. The muscles felt tight today -- he should have asked Brian to massage it for him before he left. He was sure it was just a side effect of the nervous tension he was feeling everywhere else in his body.

His first group of students would be fifth graders, and a note that had been left on the desk told him that they were working on drawing faces. Beneath the post-it note was a stack of papers, each with a different face on it and a first name and last initial in the lower right corner. Justin flipped through the papers with his left hand, more for the additional distraction than anything. Some of the faces were downright scary-looking -- with their proportions and positioning off in a horror-film sort of way -- but some of them were really good. He glanced down at the names as he turned the pages over. He thought perhaps he remembered some of them. He supposed he’d find out in a little while.

As the minutes ticked by, Justin tried to focus on his breath. Keeping himself as calm as he could. Reminding himself that they were just kids, and they were there to learn about art. Something he loved, and loved sharing with other people. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out only to see a text message from Brian: Can’t wait to hear all about your day this afternoon when I’m busy taking those pants and that shirt off of you.

Justin let out a chuckle as he shook his head and slid the phone back into his pocket, a smile spreading across his face. Brian was doing a damn good job of keeping him pleasantly distracted. He supposed this was Brian’s version of leaving a love note in his lunch bag. Although maybe that was another thing he’d done while Justin was in the shower. He would have to find out later.

The first half of the day passed by more quickly than Justin could have ever imagined. Some of the fifth graders recognized him -- he’d last seen them in October when Mrs. Chambers was out for a few days with the flu. He also saw a couple of classes of third graders, who were working with modeling clay, so that was a nice synergy with his newfound interest in sculpture. To his surprise, no one really asked any questions about his hand, and he found that he didn’t really feel as awkward about teaching and demonstrating with his left hand as he thought he would. It almost felt natural. Maybe they picked up on that too. Or maybe his partially paralyzed right hand didn’t stand out as much anymore as he felt like it did.

Maybe it was all about his own perception -- projecting his own self-criticism on other people. Just like what had happened with Brian more than a decade ago.

Justin was grateful that he had the same lunch schedule as Adam, which meant he wouldn’t be eating lunch alone. Even with as many times as he’d subbed, he really hadn’t talked much with any of the other teachers -- not that he felt like he’d remember enough of anything if he had. And he didn’t really want to talk about his accident or his memory loss today, so the last thing he wanted to do was try to explain to someone why they remembered him but he didn’t remember them.

He found Adam quickly, over in the corner of the cafeteria where the teachers sat. Adam was talking to a young woman who introduced herself as Shannon Smith, the music teacher. Justin wasn’t sure if he might have already known her or not, but perhaps he was safe since she was the one who did the introducing. He was so sick of having to “fake it” -- being polite and make small talk whenever someone obviously remembered him but he didn’t remember them.

“Well, you haven’t been by my classroom to smack me yet, or to ask me why the hell I talked you into this, so I’m guessing things are going okay?” Adam asked, his eyebrow raised as he picked up another forkful of his grilled chicken salad.

Justin looked up from unpacking his lunch bag and shrugged. “I guess. So far, so good. But I’ve only taught three classes so far. It’s easier than I thought it would be though.”

Adam smiled at him. “I knew it would be. You’re a natural.”

Justin wasn’t so sure about that, but he had to admit, it felt a lot more familiar than he’d figured it would.

Justin’s afternoon started with Miss Martin’s fourth grade class and an excited squeal and a hug from Esme. Apparently Adam hadn’t told her that he’d be there, but to say that she was thrilled would be an understatement. He heard her chattering excitedly to the student next to her, a blonde-haired girl with pink glasses whose name he later found out was Olivia, telling her all about how he was her papa’s famous artist friend and how much she loved to draw with him.

There was another student in that class who also caught Justin’s attention -- a young boy named Luke who used a wheelchair and had an aide with him. She told Justin that Luke had cerebral palsy, which left him with limited control over his limbs and slurred speech, but he was actually ahead of his class academically. Luke told Justin that art was his favorite class after Justin introduced himself and told Luke it was nice to meet him. That interaction was the only time all day that he talked about his right hand. He saw the curious look in Luke’s eyes later in the hour when everyone was busy working on their landscape drawings and he brought a couple of the tools he kept in his messenger bag over to show Luke. The tools he’d once been too embarrassed and angry to use. Luke had tools of his own that he was eager to show Justin, and even after he returned to his desk, Justin found himself watching Luke as he drew. The way he used his left hand to steady the right, the way Justin had once done himself all those years ago. The creative ways he would find to do things. But most of all, the way he seemed to lose himself in the process.

And when Justin made his way around the room answering questions and offering pointers, the way Luke looked thoughtfully at his paper for a moment, then immediately tried what Justin had suggested -- the grin on his face telling Justin how pleased he was with the result.

All day long, Justin was testing his long-term memory -- recalling all of the things he’d learned in the art classes he’d taken in grade school and at PIFA. The technical aspects that he didn’t often think about when he made his own art, that he thought might be helpful to his students.

He said that to himself again the second after he thought it -- _his_ students. Maybe this did feel natural, after all.

Justin was smiling when he walked through the door of the apartment, where he found Brian on the sofa, laptop out, papers and folders scattered on the adjacent cushion.

“Working in the living room?”

“Change of scenery,” Brian said, starting to gather up the papers with his right hand as he closed his laptop with the left.

Justin sat his messenger bag down by the door and joined him.

“So...how was it?” Brian asked as he leaned over the arm of the sofa to set his laptop and his stack of folders down on the side table.

“Don’t you have clothes you wanted to tear off of me?”

“I thought I’d at least ask about your day first, but if you insist…”

Brian pulled his wheelchair closer -- the new one that had just come in a few days before and had already seemed to result in Brian feeling a lot better -- and slid his body into it, leading Justin to the bedroom and making Justin’s already pretty-damn-good day even better.

The next day felt even easier -- Justin was starting to find his groove and settle in. Really enjoying that he could spend his entire day helping the kids take whatever was in their imaginations and put it down on paper or bring it into a three-dimensional existence with clay or even popsicle sticks and a little glue. Showing them that the sky was the limit and there wasn’t anything they couldn’t do. As long as they liked it, that was all that mattered.

When Justin got home that afternoon, Brian was in his office, looking frustrated.

He told Justin that he had to go to Pittsburgh. That it was an emergency -- work-related, but an emergency, no less.

It would be the first time they’d been in separate cities since Justin’s accident.

Brian looked as nervous as Justin felt. Justin wished he could go with Brian, but he couldn’t, because he was committed to teaching through the end of the following week. And Brian would be leaving for Pittsburgh in the morning.

“It’ll be fine,” Brian told him as they lay together in bed that night, Brian’s packed suitcase sitting by the closet door. Justin could hear in Brian’s voice that he was as much trying to reassure himself as he was Justin. They both knew what this meant. What the significance was.

They both had bad memories of the last time they’d truly been apart.

At least, Brian had bad memories. Justin had a handful of bits and pieces and the lingering effects of a traumatic brain injury that were going to make it very difficult to not feel anxious at the idea of being home alone while Brian was in Pittsburgh. To not worry that something might happen to one of them. Even as unlikely as that was, statistically -- and Justin knew that -- that wasn’t enough to stop his brain from going there. Hell, it had already been there the second Brian told him he had to go to Pittsburgh.

Justin wanted to go with Brian to the airport the next morning, but he couldn’t, because if he did, he’d be late for work. So they said their goodbyes in the living room with a long, passionate kiss that made Justin want more, but he knew Brian had to go or he’d miss his flight.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” Brian said. He held Justin’s hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “It’ll be okay.” He must have been able to feel Justin’s nervous energy. That, or he was nervous himself. “You’ll be so busy being the most amazing art teacher ever that you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Justin nodded but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, because he knew if he tried, all that he’d be able to do was beg Brian not to go. And he knew Brian had to go. Brian had his own life and his work and his company, and those things were important. Just like Justin was starting to find his own life again, too.

“I love you,” Brian said. Justin wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to hearing those words -- the words that he’d waited so long to hear -- come out of Brian’s mouth. But he was okay with that, because it meant that each time he heard them, he was grateful. Grateful for the feeling. Grateful to have Brian in his life, the way he’d always wanted since the moment they met.

Justin nodded again and tried to smile. Brian smiled back at him.

“I’ll talk to you tonight.”

Justin spent the entire day trying to rein his brain back in. Keeping himself from worrying. Trying to focus on art and the kids. He got a text message from Brian during lunch and had to fight the impulse to call him, because he knew if he did, he would never want to get off the phone.

He stopped by Monetti’s on the way home to grab dinner. The progress so far on his and Nick’s project was impressive. The contractor was putting the finishing touches on the bathroom, and work would be starting soon to add the ramp at the front entrance. Justin managed to get Nick to let him pay for his dinner this time, but when he got back home, he saw there was a slice of cake he hadn’t ordered or paid for in the bag as well.

Once he’d finished his dinner, Justin moved to the sofa and attempted to settle in for an evening of bachelorhood. Only he didn’t really want to be alone. He much preferred spending his evenings with Brian -- dare he say, cuddling.

Brian called a little after eight, sounding stressed out. Justin could hear it in his voice, even though he tried to maintain an illusion of positivity, asking about Justin’s day and trying to generally keep the focus off of himself until Justin told him to cut the bullshit and tell him what was going on.

The long and short of it was that there was a client who was pissed because they felt that the campaign they’d agreed on and what they actually received were two very different things, and somehow that had slipped past everyone, including him. Now the client was refusing to work with anyone else other than Brian himself.

“It really wasn’t that different. I think they’re overreacting. They want me to fire somebody. But, I don’t know.” Brian sounded tired.

“Are you still at the office?” Justin asked, even though he was fairly sure he already knew what the answer was.

“Yeah,” Brian sighed. “I don’t have a choice. I didn’t get here until after lunch.”

“But you’ve been up since 5 a.m.”

“I know, Sunshine. But I still have to get this done.”

“By when?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“So why not finish it tomorrow morning?”

“Because I’d rather do it now.”

“You’re tired. I can tell.”

“I’m fine.” Brian sounded indignant, but Justin could still hear how exhausted he was. Justin knew this was his usual Brian Kinney bullshit. I’m fine even when I’m not.

“It’s one account. Don’t do that to yourself again.”

“It’s a big account, though.”

“I don’t care. It’s replaceable. You aren’t. Go to your hotel and get some sleep. It’ll all be there in the morning.”

“How about if I give it another hour and see what I can get done?” Brian was negotiating. Justin wasn’t surprised. He would have been surprised if Brian had capitulated without at least some sort of fight.

“Fine,” Justin said. He wasn’t thrilled to hear that but he supposed he’d have to take what he could get. “But I’m calling you in an hour and a half, on the hotel phone. And you’d better be there to answer it.”

He was. And by the time they hung up, Justin could tell Brian was nearly asleep.

Justin knew how hard it was for Brian to prioritize himself over his business and his reputation. But he also knew Brian was working on it, and Justin was still proud of him for not staying at the office until well past midnight like he probably would have done in the past. Baby steps.

Justin called Brian in the morning as he walked to the subway station, just to say good morning. Brian was already in the office. He’d had a late night and was having an early morning. Justin had to hope that Brian wouldn’t let things get out of hand this time -- that he’d stop and take care of himself when necessary. That he wouldn’t assume that just because he was feeling better now, he could go right back to doing what he did before.

Being so far away, Justin felt like he was at a distinct disadvantage. He’d have to rely on phone calls and text messages, and he’d also have to rely on Brian himself to realize when he needed a break. Justin was trying his best not to feel nervous about that.

He was also trying his best to go on about his life like a normal person whose husband was on a business trip.

When Adam asked Justin at lunch if he’d like to come over to his and Rob’s place for dinner, Justin wondered if Brian had been the one who orchestrated it. But it didn’t really matter if he had or not -- Justin was grateful to not have to eat dinner alone in an empty apartment and spend the evening with the television as his only friend. He would still have to go to bed alone, but at least he’d have a few hours of distraction before he had to go home and do that.

It was fun for Justin to be a part of the regular, weeknight dinner conversation at the Anderson-Manning house. Hearing about the girls’ days -- elementary and preschool trials and tribulations -- and just being a party to a family dinner table conversation. He hadn’t been a part of one of those since he was a teenager, and even then, he’d always felt like the odd man out because his father was never interested in anything he cared about.

All evening, though, Justin kept finding himself thinking of Brian. They hadn’t talked since that morning. They’d exchanged a few text messages, mostly consisting of sexual innuendo, but that was it. Justin hoped that Brian wasn’t still at the office. That maybe he’d gone over to Michael and Ben’s, or was hanging out at Babylon, overseeing his kingdom. Justin didn’t really care what he was doing as long as he wasn’t working well into the night again.

Someone must have asked Justin a question while he was lost in his thoughts, because the next thing he knew, he felt Rob’s hand on his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” Rob asked.

Justin shook his head a little, as if it was somehow possible to shake the thoughts out of his head, then said, “Yeah.”

Adam repeated his question, Justin answered it, and the conversation around the dinner table continued as normal.

Rob waited until they’d finished eating and Adam had taken the girls down the hallway for their baths to question Justin any further.

“You were about a million miles away at dinner,” he said. “What’s up? You okay?”

Justin knew there was no point in trying to lie. Rob would see right through it -- he was pretty perceptive. Even with Brian, and Justin knew that was a formidable challenge. So he told him the truth.

“I’m nervous. Afraid Brian isn’t going to do what he needs to do. I know that’s stupid, but...that’s where I am. I was just sitting there thinking I hoped he wasn’t still at work.”

“You have to trust him, Justin.”

“I know, and I do. It’s just… He needs encouragement.”

Rob laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. But he’s still gotta learn to do it himself. I think he got his wake up call, though.”

“I hope so.”

“Hey, I’m getting ready to go to a yoga class here in a bit. Would you like to go? It might take your mind off things.”

Justin wondered if Brian might have put Rob up to this too, but again, it didn’t matter. It didn’t really seem to be Brian’s speed anyhow, so it was probably all Rob. He’d been curious about yoga for a while, and John had recommended it to him offhand once as being something many of his clients found helpful for managing depression and anxiety. He wasn’t sure how helpful it would be, but maybe this would be a good way to jump in.

Not even an hour later, he was following Rob through the door of a yoga studio just a few blocks from Rob and Adam’s apartment.

Ninety minutes after that, Justin was hooked.

There were literally all sorts of people in that class -- different ages, sizes, abilities, walks of life -- and yet somehow the instructor brought it all together, managing to tell everyone exactly how to feel the pose in their bodies, whether they were sitting in a chair, standing, or even on the floor. It seemed like there were dozens of different ways to do every single thing, but in the end, it really wasn’t about the physical postures at all. The physical element was simply a way to access a deeper layer of connection between your mind and your body.

When he left, he felt better than he had in a long time.

Rob gave him a hug at the top of the steps to the subway station and told him he was welcome to come to class with him anytime. Justin had a feeling he’d be taking him up on that offer.

Brian had to stay in Pittsburgh for a few more days, and Justin made it his mission to try his best to not worry about Brian. But it seemed like Brian was still worried about him. Every time he talked to Brian on the phone, he could hear the concern in his husband’s voice, wondering if he was okay, even when Justin was assuring him that he was doing fine.

“I miss you, though,” he’d said one night, as he lay alone in their bed, sprawled across the mattress, his head on Brian’s pillow.

“I miss you too. Think of me when you’re teaching 11-year-olds how to draw nude portraits.”

Justin laughed. Leave it up to Brian to distract him with perverse humor, every single time.

Justin’s bachelorhood continued through the end of the week, but he was trying to focus on the positive -- mostly, how fulfilling it was to spend his days teaching art to kids. He could already see that he was making a difference in their lives, just by the looks on their faces when he showed them how to do something they didn’t know they could do. He was giving them the tools and the skills to bring their visions to life.

He was also really looking forward to seeing Miss Martin’s class again the following week, because he’d really enjoyed working with Luke. Somehow, it had taken a 10-year-old to truly show Justin that it didn’t matter how you hold the brush or what the finished product looks like, so long as you’re happy with it and the piece says what you wanted it to say.

He supposed that was what his mother and Brian had both been trying to tell him for months. But then, he hadn’t been ready to listen. Now, he was ready and willing.

The thing that surprised Justin the most about teaching was that the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction that he was getting out of it felt a lot like creating art himself, with the added bonus of igniting that spark of creativity in someone else.

Brian arrived back home late on Friday night, as exhausted as Justin thought he would be, although nothing like what he had been when he’d gotten sick. They spent the evening at home, eating takeout in front of the television, just enjoying each other’s company. Taking care of each other in their own way.

The project at Monetti’s was finished on-time and on-budget, exactly as promised. Justin stopped by on the way home from work one day to see it, and was every bit as thrilled with it as Nick had sounded on the phone. Neither of them could wait for Brian to see it. And Justin couldn’t wait to be able to spend a few hours on Sunday afternoon listening to the live string quartet, drinking too much wine and eating too much pasta and lemon cake.

By the end of Justin’s two-week stint as a substitute art teacher, he found himself standing in the assistant principal’s office, inquiring about taking the position on full-time in the fall. It wasn’t something he ever thought he’d do, but in these two weeks, he’d found joy and purpose. A way to make a difference in the world that went beyond his own art.

Maybe it was time for him to take a different kind of leap.

On the eve of Brian’s birthday, Justin lay cocooned in Brian’s arms, basking in that safe, protected feeling that being with Brian always gave him. That it seemed like it always had.

He felt like his life was finally coming back together again. Just a few short months before, he’d felt like his entire existence had been picked up and thrown to the ground, leaving him to try to put together the shattered pieces, only he couldn’t figure out how to make them fit like they were before.

But maybe they weren’t meant to.

Maybe he was meant to do something different.

All there was left to do was embrace it with open arms.


End file.
